Eminent Marika
by AtticService
Summary: Rose was supposed to be the to-be princess in rags, I was supposed to be the evil stepsister that didn't understand her. I wasn't meant to steal the limelight and now fate has confused itself.


_The trees blurred as the path ran forever on. Without moving, I speed down that path. Brambles reached out from the sides of the path to trip and catch at my skirts; no I wasn't wearing skirts, but men's breeches. The breeches tore and ripped, and scratches gushed blood, but I still was speeding down the path. My feet grazed the ground and my shoes ripped apart, off my feet and falling quickly behind me. Eyes leered out of the trail end ahead of me, large golden eyes, cat's eyes but at the same time not at all cat's eyes. A murky, straining grumble rose and deafened me. A large opening appeared in the blackness beneath the eyes, a swirling hole of darkness yet of various colors rotating towards the middle in an everlasting spiral._

-

Straw poked through my thin shaft, scratching along my back. I shifted restlessly on the straw pallet, throwing myself onto my side. Green eyes opened wide to the darkness as I scratched my back furiously. I blinked.  
  
I had gotten used to the itch of straw on my back; I had known nothing else. The uncomfortable scratch was not what had wakened me, but instead the nightmare that I had thought to be long forgotten. Odd, it should return to plague my nights the day of my fifteenth year. I la on my side a moment more, stretching out my legs and arms stiffly while watching the rest of the room for signs of life. The other five inhabitants of the room gave no sign of their presence.  
  
I rose quickly from my straw sheet, cautious not to walk upon my sleeping neighbor. I wound my way through the small two-roomed shack, mechanically avoiding the placement of my feet upon my siblings. I was usually first to wake, but I still was assigned to the straw mat farthest from the door.  
  
Outside, I grabbed a straw basket and my newly washed clothes, those that I had cleaned in my rare excess time yesterday evening, and walked to the back of the shack.  
  
We were lucky, our housing was on the outside border of the town, and directly behind our shack, perhaps out fifty meters or so, was a fresh spring fed pond. My younger brothers called it a lake, though it was hardly large enough to qualify as a lake, much less a pond. The stream at the base of the pond wound off through the neighboring forest, creating an individual trail I had frequently traveled during my younger ages.  
  
I cleaned in the freezing water, quickly rubbing grim and straw sticks from my hair before shivering into my new clothes. My skirts were thick and heavy, quickly warming my goose-bumped legs, but my shirt was less comforting. I strolled quickly back to the hut as the sun began to peak over the pink haze along the horizon.  
  
My elder brother, Ed, was already awake and stirring at last night's fire before sighing and beginning the construction of a new one. The eldest child, my sister Rose slept soundly on her straw mat, her bright red, curly hair spread out elegantly around her head. My mother, old crippled mother lay stilly upon her back, eyes starring at the ceiling and hands folded gently over her stomach. The young twins shifted, Ryan kicked at Adam in his sleep and Adam grunted a weak protest.  
  
I helped Ed to prepare breakfast, not daring to warm the old grits for fear of burning them; they tasted better cold than burnt. Ed toasted bread over the fire expertly. The twins shifted into wakefulness, causing the usual hullabaloo that brought Rose to her consciousness.  
  
She moaned, throwing her pillow, our only pillow, over her head and covering her ears. "Can't you two rise in the morning _without_ waking mother and I as well for once?" She grumbled through the fabric covering her mouth. I handed the boys their breakfast while finishing my toast.  
  
"Mother doesn't sleep." Ryan told Rose pointedly. Adam made a face as he tried to break the toasted bread in his hands.  
  
"Gruel and stale bread." He handed the toast back to Ed who, preoccupied with the fire, threw it into the flames. I stared.  
  
"It's grits, not gruel. Are you alright Ed?" I asked cautiously, examining his face a moment that passed in silence before shrugging and brushing crumbs from my skirts. Rose crawled towards mother's bed and stole mother's prized comb from her bedside and sat down behind the twins, starting her normal routine of pampering her hair.  
  
Rose had beautiful hair and she knew it well. It had not often been cut since her birth and now dropped past her waist when it wasn't tied to her head. The hair itself was thin, but as red as gold is gold. It tumbled in natural corkscrew curls, never untidy or out of place. Mother and Rose had loved her hair and had dreamed that it had brought them salvation form the cruel life of the lower, lower class. Mother had often told stories about Rose's future, how the prince, one day passing through town, spotted Rose's hair and fell instantly in love with her. How he would take her to the castle and make her his wife and Rose and Mother would live happily ever after. Mother forgot about her other four children during such stories, and none of us took it to heart. Besides, the story hadn't a hope of being true.  
  
Besides her hair, Rose was rather plain looking. There was nothing extraordinary or flawless about her features, yet nothing disfiguring or ugly either. She had a rather bland complexion and bland expressions. Her happiness was only recognizable through a sprawling smile.  
  
Rose, to put it simply, annoyed me greatly. She didn't bother the twins, they were boys and had no interest in Rose's life. She didn't bother Ed, who although was intelligent and orderly lacked creativity and imagination. And mother was absolutely taken with her first child, when she was in her right mind of course.  
  
I rolled my eyes and Rose attempted to draw me into a conversation about her hair. Standing, I excused myself quickly, grabbed the straw basket by the door and left. The sun was shining weakly through the thin layers of clouds upon the humble village. The town was waking up, and slowly others joined me in the swarm towards the square.  
  
I was nothing in comparison to Rose. Mother had cut my ordinary brown hair to just below my shoulder, and she had done a horrible job of it. My hair was all sorts of lengths, ranging from just above my ear to place between my shoulder blades. Ryan and Adam had laughed when the saw me, and Rose, who enjoyed placing herself above me, had told me that although it wasn't as good as hers, it was better than no hair at all. It hadn't made sense to me at the time.  
  
A crowd around the center fountain of the square drew my attention. A squat man was wobbling atop a tower of wooden crates, waving around a ragged piece of parchment in the air. I walked closer, but remained on the outskirts of the crowd.  
  
"Hear me, hear me!" The man declared. I eyed him suspiciously: he must be drunk. "The First Party has declared the annual royal parade to advert from it's original course and has now re-tracked itself to meander through yon very town!" The man laughed happily, wobbling on one foot for a breathless moment before regaining what composure he had. The royal parade? I had never heard of it, and apparently a couple other villagers hadn't either. Perhaps it was because the lord of the village manor was rumored to be falling out of favor with the royal family.  
  
The squat man noticed the blank face sin the crowd, one of which was mine, and frowned. "The royal family, King and Queen Balhur and their crown children will be passing down this very street." He explained. I gasped and dropped my basket. Royalty? In our village? The crowd broke into a babble of conversation and scurried amongst themselves to find neighbors to share excitement with. In fear of my only basket being crushed, I bent to retrieve it from the ground.  
  
A white-gloved hand got to it first. I scowled, still staring at the spot form which it was being lifted before remembering my mother's words. I blushed politely and kept my head lowered. A high-to-do noble was not the thing I needed neither this morning nor any other. "Pardons for my clumsiness sir–" I gasped, catching a glimpse of the man with the white glove. I snatched my basket away form his hand, scowled fiercely at the man, rather boy, and turned on my heel to leave.  
  
I hadn't taken two steps before I whirled around again, jumped to the smiling familiar and pulled his glove up to my eye level. Lyon laughed and leaned back into a casual posture.  
  
"Where did you get it Lyon?" I asked incredulously. "I can't believe – " I looked surprised up into my friend's face as he grinned down at me. Lyon was tall, taller than other men our age were. His brown eyes sparked mischievously through his rather long light hair. "You didn't steal it did you?" I tried to speak in an undertone, but I squeaked and nearby eavesdroppers looked over curiously.  
  
Lyon clamped his hand over my mouth and led me away from the crowd with his other hand on my shoulder. I smiled at him through the glove despite my anxiety of him having stolen something. He caught my expression and rolled his eyes.  
  
We reached a corner of the square. When he let go, I managed to keep a straight face. "If you stole it I'll have to tell his majesty, they're coming through."  
  
He scowled and pulled the glove from his fingers and handed it to me. I took the soft cloth into my hands and ran my fingers over the flawless fabric. "I didn't steal it Ria." I looked up at him, searching his face for lies. He was perfectly serious.  
  
"How did you afford it?" I breathed, clutching the glove tighter.  
  
"It was a gift, from Sir. Hugh." Sir Hugh was the knight that Lyon worked under. "He lost the pair to it so he gave me this one." I shoved the glove back at Lyon.  
  
"Put it back on." I whispered, stepping back when he had taken it from my hands.  
  
"Are you okay Ria?" He began to put the glove on, but then stopped, with the fingers hanging limply from the end of the glove. His other hand reached out to hold my shoulder.  
  
"I'm fine Lyon." I shook his hand from my shoulder and put the rest of the glove on for him. It fit his right hand perfectly. "That's priceless Lyon, that glove."  
  
Lyon laughed, a loud, comforting laugh. "No it's not, it'll feed an entire family-" He looked at me pointedly before continuing, "-an entire week."  
  
I accepted that he was referring to my own rather large family, but I turned and began back down the street without a word. I could hear him laughing as I left and grinned, turning down the street towards the Hall manor. 


End file.
